The Week in Washington: Dandruff Diplomacy and Kanye Kisses

“Lock her up!” Sure. “USA!” Old news. But “Nobel”? This latest chant—shouted by members of Trump’s base who think he will deserve the prize for his upcoming confab with North Korean leader Kim Jong-Un—was first heard at Trump’s campaign rally last night in Washington Township, Michigan, which the president held instead of attending the annual White House Correspondents’ Dinner. For the second year in a row, Trump declined that invitation, assumedly because he can’t stand being made fun of, but maybe he is just too busy?

“We could talk all day but looks like you have a million things to do,” Brian Kilmeade, the hapless Fox and Friends host said to the president on Thursday morning, as his half-hour call-in interview was rapidly spiraling into a manic tirade that was extreme even by Trumpian standards. Was Kilmeade attempting to save the commander-in-chief from himself? Too late! He had already admitted that Michael Cohen had been his attorney in “this crazy Stormy Daniels deal” and that it was just a matter of time before he really messed with the Justice Department.

And speaking of messes: On Tuesday, the president brushed a speck of unsightly dandruff off the shoulder of the French president, a spectacle that in any other place and time in history, would surely be met with stark incredulity. But not here, not now. The flake-flicking was just another example of the disturbing intimacy between Don and Emmanuel. Their stunning bromance, replete with enthusiastic double-cheek kissing and hand-holding (this surely can’t be helping Macron with his Parisian poll numbers), was consummated with a state dinner whose table settings were bipartisan, even if the guest list was not. Melania selected leafy greens from Michelle Obama’s garden and employed Hillary Clinton’s gold-lined china; not a single Congressional Democrat was invited to darken the White House doors.

There was no reported dandruff removal on Friday when Angela Merkel came calling, and whether the president plans to groom Kim Jong-Un—who on Tuesday he described as “open” and “honorable”—is, like the exact date and location of their upcoming meeting, yet to be determined. Will Mike Pompeo, who met with “Little Rocket Man” on a secret mission a few weeks ago, accompany the president on this historic journey? Whatever you think of the ultra-right-wing Iron Mike, the former CIA chief and Tea Party stalwart who was confirmed as secretary of state earlier this week, at least he didn’t have to withdraw his nomination, unlike Dr. Ronny Jackson, the White House physician Trump wanted to head the Veterans Administration. Jackson faced myriad allegations, including wanton pill-dispensing and drinking on the job. Could he have been tipsy when he claimed, at that notorious press conference last January, that if Trump had “a healthier diet over the last 20 years, he might live to be 200 years old”? Speaking of which—you know who probably feels like he is 200 years old right now? Trump’s erstwhile attorney Michael Cohen, who faces his own myriad accusations, and who took the Fifth on Wednesday in the Daniels lawsuit.

In other news of the week, Paul Ryan fired Rev. Patrick J. Conroy, the House chaplain, and won’t say why, though many Washington watchers believe it is because Conroy had the audacity to obliquely mention poor people in a prayer last November. And Kanye West came back to Twitter to offer an unfathomable endorsement of the president; Trump repaid the compliment by thanking Yeezy from his own Twitter account. It was one of his more lucid communiqués of the week—on Friday, the president yet again hammered former FBI director James Comey, tweeting: “Is everybody believing what is going on. James Comey can’t define what a leak is. He illegally leaked CLASSIFIED INFORMATION but doesn’t understand what he did or how serious it is. He lied all over the place to cover it up. He’s either very sick or very dumb. Remember sailor!”

Mr. Trump, I feel I can recall every detail of your harrowing tenure over the last 16 surreal months, and I even think at this point I have a handle on exactly how many nights you spent in Moscow during the 2013 Miss Universe Pageant. Maybe I am very sick or very dumb, but for the life of me, I do not remember sailor.